


A Moth to the Light

by ComplimentaryCuller



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Momlonde, Alcoholism, F/F, Kanaya is mothwoman, Trans Female Rose Lalonde, Trans Rose Lalonde, betas ment, bro ment., did momlonde create them?, if dirk can turn into bro then by god roxy can turn into momlonde, literal cryptid, mentioned/implied davekat, mothmom is still a fucking huge moth, my how the nutrition plateaus have been overturned, they might become bigger idk, who knows? (i know)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplimentaryCuller/pseuds/ComplimentaryCuller
Summary: You had made a point of exploring the woods surrounding your house, to avoid your mother, but you never thought you would find this.





	1. Chapter 1

You are so fucking SICK of this stupid house, the stupid alcohol, the wizards, just EVERYTHING about her house. Crash. You just KNOW she’s mocking you with all the wizards. Crash. It looks like she deep-fried the jpegs of the wizards before she framed them in fancy renaissance-style gilded frames. Crash. And the pony!!! Why would she get a thirteen year old an entire pony. Crash. You can’t even ride it. Crash. And the princesses. Crash. Why. Crash. Why mother. Crash. In the feeble hope that her insanity is merely the fault of her rampant alcoholism, you went around the idiotically large house and collected every bottle you could find, and a few vases. Crash. It is also the reason you are chucking them into the waterfall she built your house on, for no discernable reason other than for the fuck of it. Crash. Fuck the environment. Crash. Stupid newts never came out of their caves for you anyway. Crash. You wind up, seeing how far you can get them before they fall. Crash. The water is cold, snow melt flowing down from the mountains even in the late summer. Crash. The current is fast, and rocks are mossy, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Crash. Ha, that one scared some birds. Crash. Stupid feathery assholes always woke you up after a long writing binge anyway. Crash. You bend down for another, idly contemplating paying someone to cart away the wizard statues. That would really get stuck in her craw. You miss, and only have a moment to contemplate that this is a really stupid way to die, before you fall head first into the freezing water. The current holds you under, seconds seemingly stretching into hours as you think about the headlines, before you’re flailing above the surface and coughing out water. You’re not a bad swimmer, your mother got you only the finest instructors as a child, but the current leads you in a merry waltz, twirling you into rocks and stones. Your legs numb, you struggle towards the closer bank, weighed down by your clothes. Scrabbling at the rocky turf, you struggle up, coughing up water. You're pretty sure it has parasites in it. Fucking hell. Getting to your feet on pine needle covered ground, you wince at the rocks digging into your bare feet. You knew you should have gotten those lace up ballet flats. Your skirt is ripped to hell and back, and you're covered in cuts from the sharp rocks you were forced into a loving embrace with by the current. Wonderful. You lean against a convenient rock, large and smooth, cool stone and slightly damp moss soothing against your scratches. Breathe. Breathe. Ok. Follow the river and you'll get home, and you can work from there. You push off the rock, stand up straight, and focus on moving forward. The pine needles and small stones hit your heavy feet like electric shocks. Vaguely, you realize you just tripped, and try to move your face to the side before you hit the ground. A broken nose would just be the icing on the cake at this point. Ok. Maybe the ground isn't so bad. You could just live here. Start a house by the river. Hunt fish or something. 

A soft, strange voice, reminding you of the summer cicadas, startles you out of your reverie. 

“Hello? Are you alright?”

You turn your face to the direction of the voice. 

“Oh yes, I'm fine, don't-”

You open your eyes. Close them. Lift yourself off the ground. Look at the figure closely. 

“Are you sure? You're sopping wet, and you seem to be injur-”

You boggle.

The person’s smile falters, eyes widening in shock. Their wide moth wings flutter nervously, feather-like antennae blowing in the wind. Their hair sticks straight up, just like a paintbrush, you muse. Their wings are slightly fuzzy, dark green eye spots and whorls on an attractive brown.

“Oh my,” they breathe, mouth open in shock. “You’re human.” They stumble back, first pair of arms, oddly hinged, are clasped to their chest, second grasping a woven basket (pine, you think, very resourceful) tightly. They’re breathing heavily, edging back slowly. You can’t see much of their legs under the long skirt (are those redone hospital clothes?), but you imagine they are similarly carapaced and segmented. How about that uncanny valley, folks. 

You swallow, and steady yourself. You stick out your hand, not too quickly, so as to not frighten them.

“Hello,” you say, forcing yourself to relax. “My name is Rose. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Rose,” they say, taking your hand warily. Their hand feels strange, like a segmented stick, or an elongated beetle shell. “My name is Kanaya. You’re… not scared?” She looks shy, almost sheepish.

You look at them worriedly, eyebrows quirked. “Why, should I be?”

She flushes green (interesting). “Oh, no, of course not, it’s just that, well, most humans-”

You smile at her, even at you wince at the choice of words that comes to mind. Soldier on, men, we’re deep enough into foreign territory already. “Don’t worry about that. I’m not most humans. Afterall, I hardly ran away, what with introducing myself and all. It’d be quite rude of me not to.” You wink at her, hoping she will catch onto your joke this time around.

She flushes a brighter green.

“Indeed you are not. Ahem, may I ask how you came to be this deep inside the woods? It is simply that most humans I have seen here were wearing shoes and more sturdy clothing, and I must admit I am very curious as to why you just crawled out of the river. To be honest,” she says, looking embarrassed, “I mistook you for a kelpie of some sort, or a water dweller of some sort. It’s the reason I did not run away, quite frankly.”

You try to look nonchalant. “Oh, that? I merely took a tumble into the river upstream and was caught in the current. I believe I am only a short walk to my home, if I simply follow the river.” You try very hard to not seem embarrassed. You do not have high hopes for this. 

Her brows(thick and elegant) furrow at this. “Are you sure you should be walking in your condition? Those cuts look painful, and you may have hit your head.” She seems nervous all of the sudden. “If it’s not too forward of me, that is. I must admit, I am rather unfamiliar with human customs.”

You smile. “Oh, no, it's quite alright. I am only a mile or less from my house, and I can fix myself up there. I wasn't injured very badly, and I  _ did  _ manage to avoid hitting my head. However,” you say, a tad nervous, “I wouldn't mind a bit of company as I went.” You flail a bit. “If it's not too far out of your way, of course.” Curses. Your composure, legendary though it may be, is not immune to attractive women. Not that you like her! You hardly know her! She merely- ok, maybe you are weak for kind and elegant girls, but whatever. You notice she is looking at you worriedly. 

“Are you sure you are fine? You seem very faint. I could fly you home, if you'd like. I am  _ much  _ faster in the air, even counting for the extra weight.”

Oh god she's so wonderful. “Thank you,” you manage to say. “That would be much appreciated.” She shifts her basket, full of berries and mushrooms (she's been living here a long time, hasn't she), and scoops you up into a four armed bridal-style embrace. 

“Oh my,” she says, surprised. “Are all humans this light?” You blink, thinking of your average height and chubby, pear-shaped figure.

“No, many my age are lighter, in fact. You must be quite strong.”  She seems interested. Lifting off, hardly shifting you, she purses her lips. 

“Well, my mother always did say I was different, both from her, and humans. I am more humanoid than her, after all.” She says this in a very conversational tone, as if it's not unusual. You blink. 

“What is she like? How are you different from her?” You ask, interest piqued. 

She cocks her head thoughtfully. “Well, she looks like a large moth, and not much like a human at all. I am not surprised, she did adopt me. She never did say where we were from.” 

You get a sinking feeling in your stomach. Oh, she did  _ not.  _ It does sound like her, the witch. Kanaya pipes up. 

“Rose, is this your home? I do not know if any other house near here.” You look, eyes finally leaving her face. 

“Oh, yes, thank you. Be careful, you don't want to be seen on the cameras. My mother would react rather badly.” An understatement, seeing as she would most likely lock her in her lab again. “You can set me down here, I can make it back on my own. Thanks again.” 

She smiles. “Oh, it's my pleasure, really. I don't get to talk to many people, aside from my mother, and one other friend, but he can only visit rarely.” She touches down, and sets you on the ground gently. “Shall I see you again?” She says, unsure of herself. 

You smile widely. “Kanaya, it would be my honest to God pleasure.” She smiles back. 

“Oh, thank you, Rose! I look forward to it. Um, shouldn't you be getting home? Your parents must be getting worried.” You nod, grimacing. 

“I suppose so. Thanks for the  _ lift.”  _ You both smile at your terrible pun. She gives you a wave as you start back up river. 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“Sounds great!” You say back, as you cross the river, splashing through the water. Yep, still freezing. Oh well, you're already soaked. She takes to the air, and you marvel at her wings, before getting back within range of the cameras. You're tackled by a 5 foot 11 mountain of lab coat and low cut clothes. 

“Rosie, omg, you gave me a heart attack, I was so worried when you fell! I ran back and I was just about to start looking! What happened? Are you alright? Oh my god, you're bleeding! Did you hit your head? Do you need a doctor? Did you swallow any water? Is anything broken?” She's turning your head in her hands, distress written into her face. You melt into her, relieved that she's not going to be passive aggressive about this. You’re tired as fuck, and drift off as she calls - someone, probably a medical person of some sort, who cares, not this bitch. She’s warm, and you can’t remember the last time she held you like this. It’s mostly over the top gifts and immediate over reaction to your interests with her. It’s nice, you think sleepily, before sliding away completely.


	2. Chapter 2

 

You wake up in your bed, groggy and tired. You ooze out of your room, making for the expensive coffee maker and the extremely high-caffeine coffee grounds you bought a while back. You have a stockpile of them in a cabinet somewhere around here. You chew absentmindedly on a spoonful of them as you spoon generous tablespoons into the coffee machine. You get out your kitty cat eared tentacle mug you had custom made and dump an eighth cup of sugar in, and pour in the fresh coffee. The benefits to having a rich mother. The chocolate syrup is around here somewhere. You don't bother to find it. Sipping at your mug between the triangular ears, you raise your eyebrows at your mother being in the dining room. She visibly brightens, and bustles over, giving you a hug and chattering brightly as she leads you to the (food laden, you didn't know she could cook, she was never around enough for that) table. 

“Oh, Rosie, you're up, how are you feeling, are you alright, cuts healed? Do you need anything? How can I help?”

You can't help yourself. You're tired, aching all over, and sick and tired of her shit. You couldn't stop yourself from saying it if you wanted to. And  _ fuck _ if you don't. You knock back the rest of the coffee like a shot, steeling yourself for your rant. “There's no need to strain yourself, you  _ witch _ . I know you have better things to do than take care of a daughter you won't even tell the truth about her father to. Certainly not one you thought was a boy for too long to have been paying any attention to for more than your drunken flights of fancy! Well fuck that, I'm  _ sick  _ of this dark house, the stupid ugly wizards you bought to mock me, and the fucking alcohol! I slipped while throwing out your stupid caches you think I didn't notice! Fuck you, you horrendous bitch! Fuck you!” You storm out, hungry but unwilling to take her food. The sliding glass door cracks as you slam it to the side, and you vault over the railing onto the other side of the river, still holding your mug. The coffee-ish sugar is still stuck to the bottom of the cup, and you scoop it out with your fingers, ditching it within sight of the house, before tramping deep into the forest in your long, lacy purple nightgown, nearly tripping over the hem a few times. You climb a low branched tree, getting sap all over you, for all you care. You breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of pine and cool air. You wish you could talk to someone about this. John and Jade would do their best, you're sure, but you can tell somehow that it would be like putting a bandaid on a knife wound. Dave… he’s got his own troubles, and he doesn't need the extra worry on top of everything else. He does worry  _ so  _ much. He's a good friend. You've been planning on getting him here for a while, the two of you, but you're still not sure how. Your mother wouldn't care, and his Bro wouldn't give a shit. Sicko. ‘Get on like a house on fire, and the whole world is the house’ comes to mind. He's been hinting that he might have found someone to help, but says it might be dangerous for them if they're found. The system is brutal to older kids, you know that, so you can understand. You sigh. The wind is cool on your face, blowing your hair into your eyes, catching on your eyelashes. You let it. You've been sitting there who knows how long, and your ass has gone numb. You try the method where you stack your fingers from the horizon till you reach the sun. 10~. Less than an hour. Oh well. You can stand to stay out a bit longer. Maybe you’ll see Kanaya. You smile a bit. Maybe you have a  _ tiny  _ crush. You're always weak for beautiful cryptids, what can you say. Or maybe it's just her. You'd have to take a census. 

“Oh, hello Rose.” You nearly topple out of the tree. Kanaya is looking at you cheerfully. “I didn't expect you so soon. Admittedly, I  _ was  _ heading over, but there's no path out here, as far as I can tell. Was I mistaken?”

You blink rapidly. Not a fever dream, then. You didn't think so, but some confirmation is appreciated. “No no, you’re correct. I am surprised as you, actually. I left in quite a hurry, with no plan but to leave. My mother is a bit…. difficult.”

She flutters up, nimbly avoiding the pine branches. She settles on a branch next to yours, facing you as she pats you with two arms, one rubbing circles in your leg and the other patting your shoulder. “One of my friends has a difficult father too. They live in a city pretty far off, and his father isn't suited for dry climate, but it's too far to the water for them to risk going, and he says his father is rather suffocating because of it. I empathize with you.”

You smile at her words. Gesturing to her ever present basket, you look at her curiously. “Is there anyway I can help? I would love to assist you.” She smiles gratefully. 

“That would be lovely. It does get somewhat tedious dealing with the more foolish predators and seeking berries on my lonesome. Company would be delightful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘predators’?” 

She crosses her second pair of arms with a thoughtful clack, feathery antenna standing up straighter. “Oh, larger foxes, mostly, and some bears in the spring, and once there was a very lost coyote. It's more of a nuisance than anything, really.”

You didn't know there were bears in the woods. You know why you never saw them, at least. “Sounds fun.” You say evenly. No need to seem perturbed about something she isn't. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know! Sorry!

You made a point of learning about the area you lived in, but the trails only showed so much of the forest, and some of the things you see over the next days are truly stunning, deep, cool caves, frog ponds surrounded by moss, tree trunks covers root to canopy in mushrooms, berry bushes carefully protected from birds with a vine cover of Kanaya’s own design. It's stunning. She's stunning. Time seems to pass quickly with her, as you trade playful barbs and chatter about anything that catches your fancies. The two of you have lunch, the mushrooms juicy and fresh. Darkness creeps up on you quickly, and as you part at the tree line, you wish you didn't have to. As you slide open the glass door, your mother looks at you, face full of an emotion you can't name. 

“You weren't here when I woke up, Rosey.” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Well, you have been sleeping more, what with going through alcohol withdrawal and stubbornly ignoring it-” she snorts inelegantly, a break in her usual motherly facade-“If you must know, I was out with a friend.”

“In the middle of the woods? You can talk to me, you know. I've never been around much, but I do care.”

You grab some cup ramen from a cupboard. “News, mother. I'll have to make note of it. After all,” you turn swiftly as you slam the microwave door closed and set it to 2 minutes. “It's not as if you ever showed it.” She has the gall to act hurt. 

“Rosie, no, I'm sorry, I tried, I really did, I never meant-”

You grab your noodles and a fork. “No one ever does, mother, but yet.” 


	4. Chapter 4

You've been planning this for a while; when Kanaya told you she was interested in weaving and the like you knew you just had to get her some fabric. You weren't sure what to get her, unfamiliar with the craft as you are, but you bought a large sewing kit and a few yards of different greens; if nothing else she would blend in. Your mother gives you strange looks as you fling open the door every morning for the mail, but gives you space, having caught onto your irritation with her. When you finally get the cloth and supplies, you rush upstairs, digging out gift boxes and those funny stick on bows they make for Christmas wrapping. Grinning, you throw it in a backpack and rush out, catching your mother’s startled eyes before you vault over the railing and splash through the river. Once in the forest, you slow to a more sedate pace, not wanting to be out of breath when Kanaya meets you at the clearing. She's there when you see her, sketching something in the dirt, when she sees you, and hurriedly scribbles it out, going faintly green as she stands and walks forward.

“Hello Rose, are you alright? You seem a bit excited. Not to say that I am not excited to see you, of course, ah, but you seem a bit out of sorts.” She wrings her second pair of hands a bit nervously, looking at you embarrassedly. You smile.

“Well, you mentioned your interest in weaving and clothes making, so I got you some things to make it easier. Ah, give me a moment,” you say setting your pack down and digging out the box. “Here. It's a few different types of fabric and some sewing needles and thread, I didn't know quite what to get.” You hand it to Kanaya, her first arms grasping it while her second ones flutter excitedly.

“Oh, Rose,” she says excitedly. “Thank you so much. I, you didn't have to, I’m so thankful, these are so beautiful, the thread is so fine, I never could have gotten it that way myself, thank you!” She hugs you tightly, cool chitin hard against you underneath her much patched dress. You hug her back, arms fitting neatly between her two pairs, and you blush, not wanting to be the first to pull away. She lets go after a few beats, and you break away a half-second later, smiling back at her as she wipes at her jewel-like eyes with her left hands.

“Thank you, truly. This is so thoughtful of you, I, I-”

Oh Gog she's crying oh Gog oh Gog. You pay at her shoulder awkwardly, keeping your composure together with scraps and threads. “It's nothing, really, I only wanted to make it easier for you. You are very talented after all.” She sniffles and looks at you shyly.

“Thank you, Rose. Truly.” You offer a small prayer to whatever is out there for having the self-control to not kiss her then and there. You lick your lips nervously.

“I had been wondering, Kanaya, if you would like to come over to my home for a “sleepover”?” You, blushing? Impossible. “My mother will be out of town for a meeting with her superiors, so I could disable the cameras, and I could show you some human culture, if you’d like.” Oh thank god she’s smiling.

“I would enjoy that, Rose. Thank you.” You smile back. _Yeeeeeesssss._ Praise the Horrorterrors.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I'm so sorry everything has taken so long I was volunteering for my church and I'm visiting relatives but I Have been working in them I swear!!

When your mother leaves, you act casual, ignoring her, but the second she gets into the black helicopter you run to the security room. The controls are simple, you only have to turn off the cameras, and then you poke the helpfully labeled button that turns off the perimeter sensors. Your mother is very paranoid. You’ve already picked out some movies for the two of you to watch, organized your makeup and nail care kits (if this is a sleepover, then by the horrorterror’s gaping maws you’re doing it right), and go to collect every single blanket and remotely plush object in the house and move them to the movie room. Your mother can think what she damn well likes, you are going to have fun. A knock against the plywood sheet covering where you shattered the glass sliding door startles you out of your reverie, and you jump, nearly knocking over the computer.  
“Rose? I am at the door. Are you here?” You scramble down the stairs, straightening your skirt.  
“Hello, Kanaya. I'm sorry I left you waiting, I was a tad distracted,” you say as you open the door, certainly not out of breath. She smiles warmly.  
“Oh, it's no problem at all. I was here hardly a moment. May I come in?”  
This is it, this is how you die, the embarrassment will kill you instantly.  
“Of course, it would be delightful.” You step neatly to the side, and she walks in, movements insectoid in a way you still have not become accustomed to. Her eyes sparkle with interest as she looks around your living room.  
“Goodness,” she blinks rapidly. “Are all human hives so large?” She peers at you curiously. You blush.  
“No, not really. My mother is rather well off, as she does … important work for the government. Most are much more moderate in size.”  
She looks at you curiously. “So, I believe you intended to introduce me to human culture?”  
You blush. “Ah, yes, right this way. I believe there are some amusing parts of media you should see.” Holy fuck Rose how many words do you need to say ‘hey wanna watch a movie’. You proceed to tell what you have come to call your inner Dave to shut up. Wow, you should really get a grip.  
“Rose?” Kanaya enquires.  
Right, cute girl.


	6. Chapter 6

Admittedly, you were surprised when Kanaya peered closely at the wide amount of beauty products your mother had gotten you and asked what they were for. You had planned on doing makeovers at some point, (what kind of sleepover would it be without them?), but her curiosity led you to where you are currently, watching makeup tutorials on youtube with your laptop, side by side on your bed, thigh against thigh, which you are painfully aware of, one of her strange, insectoid hands between the two of you, and you wish you were brave enough to take it. Her lips are a blend between a moth’s and human, human looking but covered in tiny, soft-looking, fine black bristles, and the tip of her long, straw shaped tongue is poking out of the side of her mouth.

“Rose?” Damn. “Are you alright? You seem to have been lost in thought.” Kanaya looks at you inquiringly.

You grasp for your composure. “Yes, thank you, I merely zoned put for a  moment. Nothing to concern yourself about.” You smile at her, hoping she won’t notice your blush.

She smiles, showing her strange “teeth”, an uninterrupted U-shape of carapace/bone/something, and seems relieved, gesturing to the makeup kit your mother got you. “Perhaps I could attempt to use these on you. I am unsure of my ability, but it seems as though it would be enjoyable.”

You nod. “I have full faith in you. It would be a pleasure.”

She nods, and starts looking over the various products that your mother bought you, deep in thought, and you settle into a comfortable position so that she can reach you, and if you happen to stare at her, then there is no one to see and if there is then they should mind their own damn business. She turns to face you again, various palettes and tools grasped in her upper right hand and lower left, which you’ve noticed seem to be her non-dominant hands, and smiles confidently at you. “I believe I am ready now, Rose. if you would not mind closing your eyes?”

You nod an affirmative, sure you must be blushing from the thought of being so close to her, and relax your muscles, closing your eyes as she begins gently brushing powders on you, and the sensation of concealer gently swished upon your right cheek as she gives you a soft coat of eyeshadow on your left eyelid at the same time is both unsettling and… something you can’t seem to place, despite your penchant for learning obscure psychology facts. You do your best not to shiver at the prickle of fine strands of the makeup brushes on your skin, your usual beauty routine consisting mostly of your black lipstick and the occasional use of acne cream when it became too unmanageable, although you’ve mostly stopped recently, Kanaya seeming fascinated by your “areas of raised skin” (suck it, societal beauty standards) (and anyway, you don’t pick at them, so it’s not as if they’re red and inflamed, merely speckled across your face like a plethora of pebbles). You like to think you are able to pull off the “snow on the rocks” look, as Kanaya calls it, rather well, with your dark skin and vitiligo mimicking the sun-dappled forest floor.

After a moment, she pulls away, and your eyes flutter open as she tilts your head to look closer at your face. She nods, seeming satisfied, and changes hands on the brushes, leaning in closer to start on the other sides that she hadn’t done.

You keep your breathing slow and even, and when she tilts your head up for inspection, you keep your face carefully blank, grateful that your breaths do not stutter at the sight of her, deep in concentration. _Gayyyyyy,_ calls your “inner Dave”, and you are very glad for the concealer covering what must be a deep blush.

She sets down the eyeshadow and concealer, picking up blush and liquid eyeliner, and you keep as still as possible as she applies the eyeliner, remembering all too well your early attempts at using it, and the subsequent eye-poking that followed. Mascara is next, then your eyebrows, and a coat of lipstick goes over your lips, before she allows you to look in the mirror.

The result is strange, which should have been expected.

Your lips nearly blend into your skin, even with the patches on your lips, and she has put the blush only on the patchwork spots of paler skin, although she did only use it on your cheeks. The concealer is the shade of the back of your hand, instead of the inside of your wrist, as is the norm. Your eyebrows are elegant, pointed at the ends, but no longer the blond of your hair, but the exact shade of your skin when sunburnt. Your eyelids are the color of your hair, the eyeliner pitch black, and your eyelashes the same color. It is… alien. You feel ethereal, like this has to be someone else in the mirror. You smile.

“Kanaya,” you look at her apprehensive face. “It's beautiful. Thank you. I would have never thought of doing it this way, I shall have to remember. Excuse me, may I take a picture before I do yours?”

She brightens immediately, nodding. “Of course, Rose. I am very flattered, I am very new to this.”

You take a picture of the products she had used, then your face, and study your face in the mirror closely.

You can hardly wait for the summer to end. Now this will _really_ give your classmates pause. They had always given you a wide berth, with your cryptic smile and easy psychoanalysis of their motives and weaknesses, on the rare occasions that they tried to hassle you, but such a drastic change might allow you new chances to dissect their issues with you when they begin their whispering.

You turn to Kanaya. “Would you like for me to do yours? I am unsure of how well I will do, but if you would like I am willing to try.”

She nods, her teeth just showing in her hesitant smile, and your stomach flutters. She closes her eyes, and you turn to the makeup box, sure she’ll see your blush through her eyelids by some arcane majyyks.  Your mind goes into overdrive, trying to distract yourself from your inner Dave’s shouts of _GAYGAYGAYGAY_ , and you consider her face critically (as if you don’t stare enough). The texture of her skin is all wrong, lips furred, eyelashes nearly non-existent, and skin cool and hard to the touch, with just the slightest give to it. Anything on her lips would clump in the bristles, and her skin is a peculiar shade of grey-green, like lichen, almost, defying any concealer or blush you’ve seen. Hesitantly, you reach for the darkest black eyeshadow you have, sure that if nothing else, it will have been a good attempt, when she tilts her head to one side quizzically.

“Rose, what is that sound? It sounds like a large creature trying to fly.” Her eyes open, looking at you curiously.

You furrow your eyebrows, straining to hear, and you hear the distinctive _whum-whum-whum_ of stealth helicopter blades in the distance. Your face pales. _“She said she would be gone for the weekend!!!”_ You hiss, and Kanaya peers at you worriedly.

“Rose, what is the mat-”

You cut her off, frantic. “You need to leave, _now._ If my mother sees, you I- I don’t know what she’ll do to you, you need to get away-” you’ve gotten off your lush bed, eyes darting around your room as you try to figure out ways to get her out unharmed, and you’re steadily working yourself into a panic.

She turns you around to face her forcefully, her inhuman (heh) strength catching you off guard as she raises an eyebrow at you. “Rose, what is it you are talking about? What is this about your mother?”

You take deep breaths, mastering yourself once more, and meet her eyes. “My mother, Kanaya, has come home early, and I am unsure of how to help you escape without alerting her to your presence. I fear her reaction to you would be quite adverse.” You are 612% she is not gleaning your great fright, and it is both endearing and an aggreivance at such a time as this.

She nods carefully. “How do you plan for me to go, then? I would hate to frighten-” frighten, _hah,_ she’d probably squeal with delight as she dissected her “- your mother, so how shall we go about this?”

You force yourself to relax, and settle into the familiar mindset of “how to avoid her drunken passive aggression”. She’ll be coming in from the front, likely unsteady on her feet after her in-flight medley of alcohol, and will probably stumble around the living room and kitchen area, before crumpling into a heap on the sofa next to your horrorterror-ified princess, whom she will carry out an inane conversation with before passing out- oh, _shit_ ! You forgot to take into account her withdrawal, she’ll be bone-dry, probably toting extravagant gifts that never make up for her absence and negligence (if they were even somehow _not_ given passive-aggressively, that is), so she’s an unknown factor! No, the safest route would be out the window in her room, even if she didn’t have a penchant for appearing there with no physical way to have gotten there in the time allowed. You’d have to risk it.

You nod at her, plan made. “Follow me. With luck, we will be able to pull this off.”

She nods back, face serious, and follows close behind you as you open the door, peering around, before ushering her out of it, gesturing for silence, and her wings rub against each other nervously, a faint cicada-hum coming from them. You _think_ the A/C will drown it out, but there is no way of knowing. Pointing it out would only compound her worries, so you cling to hope. The helicopter is close, maybe five minutes away, and you hurry up as you take the twists and turns of the hallways on the path the her room. One minute away. The door swings open, not a hint of a creak (no doubt the work of the high-end maids your mother hires, quiet and soft-spoken women who never meet your eyes), and you stop Kanaya from going in. It  doesn’t _seem_ to have any cameras, and they would likely be attuned to the security system anyway, which you are quite sure you turned off, so you half-run to the wide window, flicking the catches, and sliding it open, and Kanaya climbs onto the sill, ethereal silhouetted against the moonlight, wings half-outstretched. Your breath catches.

“I am sorry to have to leave so suddenly, Rose,” she says, cicada-buzz voice soft, gentle, wheat-field heat and lazy sun through leaves. “I wish i could have stayed longer. Whenever you wish to see me, I will be in the clearing. Until then, Rose.” She flaps her wings, leaps gracefully off the sill, and flies away, low to the ground. You watch her disappear into the trees like the lovesick heroine you are. _Rose Lalonde, moth furry extraordinaire,_ comments your inner Dave, and you shush him. You hurry out of your mother’s room, not wanting to linger, and make your way through the halls, considering your next move.

Your mother’s voice calls out. “Rosie-posie, where are you? Mummy’s back from her conference!”

Fantastic. The harpy is here. _Poof_ , go your speculations of hang-outs ~~not dates she can’t possibly feel the same way damn it Rose~~ . She _knows_ you hate that nickname. The patronization is just the icing on the multi-tentacled writhing abomination of a passive-aggressively baked seven tier cake, almond and ginger flavored (why??? What even, mother) with each layer in an alternating fashion (11th birthday, a week after the fact, which she had not been there for). You reach the living room, looking down over the railing on the stairs. Fantastic. She’s bought you another princess gown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Kanaya's skin tone is #8da393 in hexcode!


	7. Chapter 7

  
  


“Mother,” you say coolly, knowing she can probably tell she interrupted something important to you. It is unlikely she knows exactly what, but her mind games have been increasing in scope for the past few years. If it weren’t for the ability to fly, you would have suspected Kanaya to be part of one. “I wasn't expecting you back so soon. Were you ejected from the premises, perhaps due to your state of intoxication?”

She smiles at you, gaze as icy as your tone. “Why of course not, Rosey! I haven't had a drink in ages, guess I finished all of them off!”

“I threw them into the waterfall, mother,” you remark. “It was an entire event unto itself, seeing as I fell into the current and had to hike back almost a mile while bare-foot, sopping wet, and covered in injuries. You had me rushed to the hospital to ensure that I had not consumed any parasites.”

“Oh, that's right! I almost forgot about that. It seems like such a ridiculous event in hindsight, doesn’t it?” 

God, you hate her.

She smiles wider at you. “You know, Rosie-posie, I noticed that you've been more interested in green now, so I got you a new dress! I made sure that it was extra fluffy, and wasn’t the designer so excited to find out you still liked them! I even got you a princess cap for it!” She held it out in front of her, shaking it at you. You’re unsure how she even manages to hold it up, the weight of the ruffles themselves must be ridiculous. “Do you like it, Rosey? Although, I don't think it would go with your makeup, considering the…. unique way you’ve done it. If you want some tutoring in it, you can always come to Mommy dearest for some tips! I have much more experience in it than you, sweetie, and I’m afraid it shows!.”

You grit your teeth as you go down the stairs. “Actually, I rather like the way I’ve done my makeup, thank you very much, and I don’t think I’ll want your help with it, thank you ever so. And mother, I hate to bring this to your attention in such a rude manner, but buying a dress two sizes too small in a color you would only know of my appreciation of by  _ spying _ on me is simply an unattractive thing to do. Commenting on your daughter’s weight using a gift is  _ rather _ unladylike.” You're almost to the hallway leading to the safety control center when she speaks again.

“Not as unladylike as you,  _ Dietrich _ .” Her words are icy, spoken softly, almost masked by the rushing water beneath the living room. 

You stop dead, completely frozen, breaths coming and going in tiny puffs. How  _ dare _ she. “You made me a promise, mother,” you toss out, casually. Your voice doesn't betray your tears. Praise the Horror-terrors. God, why did you think she would keep a promise?

“What did I promise, Rosey?” Her tone is saccharine, sickly sweet like rotting grass, like she doesn’t  _ know _ what she just did. It would have been kinder to smash a bottle in your face, using that name like it wasn’t as false as the boyhood you were assigned.

You stride up the remaining steps, pause in the doorway. “Fuck you,” you say harshly, face hot with rage, and you walk far enough down the hall until she can't see you. You bite your lip as the tears come, and then you break into a run. Maybe, just maybe, if you run fast enough, she won’t notice the gap in the footage. That’s all. There is no other reason you’re running full tilt through the carpeted halls, newly painted nails clenched into fists, pumping furiously as you whirl around corners. A Lalonde doesn’t run from _anything,_ no matter what. They don’t _._ _Oh, so that’s why you’re smothering sobs as you flee from your mom, then, huh, Lalonde?_ ‘Dave’ asks, and you crush the thought like a bug. You hurtle around a corner, swinging around the doorway into the control room, and you’re putting in the password when she appears behind you. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Rosie-posie! I put it back online when I first got the alert, and wasn’t it such a surprise for me to find out! You could have just asked if you wanted to invite a friend over.”

Your blood runs cold.

“You know, I’d love to meet them. I really wasn’t expecting for there to be someone living in the forest, and certainly not someone like  _ that, _ but it’s such a nice surprise.” She leans down, breath puffing into your ear as you stand there, frozen, hands still on the keys. “I wonder, when were you going to introduce me? Well, no matter. I’m sure I’ll be seeing them soon.”

Your blood is pounding in your ears. You’ve got to do something. You can’t let her get Kanaya, you  _ can’t. _ You take a deep breath. Your hands return to your sides. “No,” you say evenly. “No, I don’t think you will.” And then then you whip around, and stab your knitting needles into her shoulder. She screams, clutching her shoulder, but you’re already running out the door, and for once the maze-like interior of your home is helping you as you weave ever closer to the nearest exit. You wrench open the window, leap over the side, and nearly break your ankles as you land, hard, on a root. You recover fast, and run into the forest. There’s lights cutting through the dark, and you take out another needle, preparing to-

Your eyes open wide as you choke on a scream. No, no, that’s not how it went. Calm down, Rose. Get a grip. Your fists clench in the blankets. None of that happened.  _ But it could have. _ It  _ didn’t _ . Remember what you read. You take deep breaths, trying to sort ut what happened. You were reliving what happened, the fight, that name, the tears, the security, and then-

You release the blankets in your fist. Ok. The adrenaline leaves you all in a rush. Mother hadn’t turned on the security. She didn’t mysteriously appear behind you. You never stabbed her. Your house doesn’t even have hallways like that. Breathe. Breathe. You’re supposed to be the logical one. You arrange your priorities for the day. Coffee. Coffee is a good idea. You ooze out of bed, thankful for the thick curtains shielding you from the sun, and tug on a shirt and skirt. You move to leave, and then hesitate, and take out the sweater Kanaya made you. You’re still unsure how she made such fine cord from ferns, and you suspect you wouldn’t have the slightest idea how she weaved it, but it’s cozy and perfectly fitted, if scratchy. It’s a dull tan color, but it smells of pine and the forest, and you like it. Fortified, you square your shoulders, and open the door. You can smell coffee wafting up from the kitchen. It’s decaf, or at the very least, a different blend than your favorite. That witch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:33 < *AC says* I bet I scared mew!


	8. Chapter 8

“Good morning, mother dearest,” you say sweetly, makeup sealed and cozy in your sweater as you pour the coffee into the “World’s Sweetest Princess” mug she bought you immediately after coming out. It’s pink, studded with real gemstones, and made of china. She had it specially made by artisan crafters in Sweden, and cost 2,990 euros, according to the price tag she “““accidentally””” left inside the box. You despise it with a singular passion, the saccharine pink seeming to mock you. You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of coffee. You were right. It _is_ decaf.

Roxanne turns towards you. “Oh, hello sweetie! Still wearing that makeup, I see, even though I offered my input. Do you like the coffee I made you?” she practically simpers at you. “You shouldn’t drink so much caffeine, sweetie, it’ll stunt your growth. Why, when I was your age, I was 5’7 and still growing!”

You suppress a glare, and simper back at her. “Oh, but mother, don’t you know that it doesn’t stunt growth at all, but merely the central nervous system? I was under the impression that you are a highly paid government scientist, wouldn’t you know this?”

Her facade broke for a moment, lips pursing in a glare, before it snapped back into place. “You're right, Rosie! Haha, I can't believe I forgot that! Silly me, I must still be tired from my meeting last night.” She smiled at you. “Did you have someone over last night, Rose? It seems like a lot of snacks for a young lady to eat all by herself!”

You haven't had real, physical contact with another human during the summers since the third grade, when you got kicked out of summer camp for psychoanalyzing the head of the camp and deeply disturbed them by revealing their long-seated issues with their uncle. The novelty of being alone in the house all day had worn off within the week, and ever since then you'd become more and more bitter and passive-aggressive towards her and cynical towards the world. On some level, you know this is deeply unhealthy, but on another, one much closer to the surface, you're too angry to care.

You smile sweetly at your mother. “I haven't seen another human being aside from you and the housekeepers for quite some time, mother,” you say smoothly. “And, if it would not be unkind to say so, I find it a somewhat unattractive trait to go through another's belongings without their say-so.” You take a gulp of decaf, praying for the placebo effect to work on you, and feel absolutely nothing. You continue drinking the disgusting farce of a beverage anyway, just to show her that you don't care. You think you can feel parts of your soul dying with each sip. Anyone who says that you are overreacting must have never drunk decaf coffee in the presence of their judgemental pseudo-motherly female progenitor whilst having to keep their cryptid romantic interest _friend_ a secret from their prying eyes.

 _Drama queen,_ says your inner Dave.

You are really going to have to psychoanalyze that at some point; creating mental avatars of your friends is almost definitely a sign of anxiety or a disorder, and you really ought to nip it in the bud. Later, though; for now, you must make your escape.

“Rosie, would you like to come with me on a trip to town? I scheduled a spa trip, and we can go shopping for some nicer clothes for you, some bright colors to counteract your skin, you’re just so pale, well in some places at least! I should schedule a tanning session, it’d do you some good, even out your skin.” She smiles at you. “I do hope you’re not planning on going into that forest today, it must be full of ticks and insects. It’s not very _ladylike_ , sweetling.”

Her saccharine smile seems to be magnetically attracting the back of your hand. “I’ve been cataloguing flowers out there, actually. And I’ve nearly domesticated some of the wild animals out there. Is that suitably ‘ladylike’ for your scrutiny, mother? Or perhaps I should just submit to your identification of what is ““trans enough””.” Your tone is venomous, acidic. Normally, you’d have played along longer, attempting to get one over her, and _then_ made your escape, but you are _really_ _fucking_ ** _sick_** of this horseshit. You set the mug down on the counter with a heavy ‘thud’, and turn on your heel, mincing your way to the deck and vaulting your way over the railing with an added flourish. You land lightly on the grass, and elegantly twirl your way across the river on the dry stones, practically _prancing_ into the safety of the forest. Once safely out of her view, you drop the theatrics, rolling your eyes to yourself, and settle your skirt. Witch. How one person manages to such a passive aggressive parent escapes you. Has she spent years honing her craft? A deal with otherworldly forces? Natural talent?

Scholars everywhere search for an answer.

You, however, have found, that the reason has been mysteriously relocated, to none other than… your middle finger! Could the dark sciences be at it _again?_

You found your way to the by-now-familiar clearing while occupied with such riveting conclusions, and pet one of the deer that makes a repeat appearance here; you weren’t _entirely_ lying when you told your mother about the half-domesticated animals; only that it was Kanaya who had domesticated them, not you. She’d looked so beautiful, wings fluttering slightly in the sunlight, deer nosing at her basket as she called them by names full of clicks and chitters you couldn’t hope to repeat, strange, twig-like fingers petting them softly, right arms both feeding them berries and plants. She seemed like a goddess, unconcerned and at peace, until her eyes found yours; then, she smiled at you, put a finger to her lips, and led them away, shooing them gently.

You’re broken from your reverie by a very real Kanaya, looking down at you quizzically.

“Rose?” Her antennae twitch in your direction, the bent one she can’t explain (but you suspect your mother could) bobbing gently.

You smile up at her, blinking away your thoughts. “Don’t worry, I was merely lost in thought,” you reassure her. “It was nothing to concern yourself with.”

Her face goes back to normal, seeming content with your explanation. “I see you are wearing that sweater I made for you,” she says, and if you’re reading her correctly (those bug-y undertones have you quite turned about, sometimes, which has led to misunderstandings far too many times for your comfort) she is pleased-content.

You’ve been looking up bug noises for weeks to be able to read her, and it is (hopefully) paying off. “It’s excellently made,” you say. “I can’t imagine how you could have made such a thing in the midst of the forest.”

She smiles, and your heart skips. “You flatter me,” she says. “I can’t imagine that you couldn’t outstrip me if given a chance.”

You blush. “Indeed, it is I who is being flattered. My talents lie solely in knitting, not fabric making. Your weaving leaves me quite envious.”

“Ah, but I find myself equally envious of you, Rose.”

“Agree to disagree, then?”

“Indeed.” she smiles warmly at you, and you melt inside. “So, Rose, how would you like to meet my mother?”

You blink in surprise, before smiling. She trusts you!!! She's going to show you her home! And introduce you to her mom!

!!!!

You recover quickly, composing yourself. “That sounds lovely. I would love to meet her.”

Kanaya smiles brightly, visibly pleased. “Thank you, Rose. I am glad you agreed. Shall we?” She offers you an elbow, the arm above the one holding her basket.

You take it, the smooth chitin still as much a novelty to you as the first time you saw her, flat on the ground and sopping wet as you looked up at the most beautiful girl you had ever seen. “We shall.”


	9. Chapter 9

She hasn't shown you this side of the forest before. You can't blame her. The path is nearly hidden, brambles woven into nigh impenetrable wall, till she picks at just the right vine and they swing open. She fastens it behind you, and you can barely even tell it was ever there. The path itself is rough, all sharp rocks and slippery mud. She navigates with ease of practice, and she has to help you more than once to traverse certain terrains, her cool chitin against your hands or waist always a small surprise, the coolness and rigidity pinging you as  _ not human-strange-alien-different _ no matter how many times you've seen her, hung out with her, touched her, been with her in the last… days? Weeks? Months? 

Time has never been your thing, out here in the forest where it all blends together, but it's been slipping past faster now. You can't imagine why, it's never been this way befo-

_ Oh. _

You stop, suddenly, just breathing.

_ It's because you're  _ **_happy_ ** . 

You take in a gulp of breath, and start forward again, not wanting to fall behind. You love your friends, love talking to them, Dave and his rambling, Jade’s excitement and intelligence, John and his… John-ness, really, but. You've only ever seen them in shitty photos sent over Pesterchum, never even heard their  _ voices _ , much less seen them in person, and.

It doesn't compare. It doesn't compare to a real, physical person at all. 

They’re your friends, they are, really! You love them, you do, they’re wonderful and kind and fun, but. You haven’t been touched in  years. You haven’t been hugged, haven’t had your hand held on a walk through the forest, haven’t sat next to someone with your thighs touching, haven’t had a real-life,  _ physical  _ friend in years.

“Rose,” Kanaya says, looking back at you, her compound eyes seeming worried. “Are you alright? If you wish, we could take a rest.”

You blink, then quicken your pace till you are walking next to her. “No, no, I was merely lost in thought. Don’t worry.”

She gives you a worried look, but lets it go. “If you are sure, Rose. Do not worry, we are very close to my hive.”

You smile, hoping for ‘confident’ and likely come up with ‘unsteady’. “Excellent. I can’t wait to meet your mother.”


	10. Chapter 10

When you heard hive, you were expecting something along the lines of a beehive or a wasp’s nest, all hexagons and leaves and wax. You weren’t expecting a cleverly disguised hole in the ground, leading to an extensive tunnel system. 

Kanaya must sense your confusion, for she looks at you with a quizzical expression. “You seem confused, Rose,” she says.

“A bit,” you admit. “I was under the impression that this was a hive?”

She blinks at you. “Yes, of course it is. It is mine.”

“But this seems more like a burrow to me.”

“Well it is not. It is my hive.”

“If you insist, then I suppose it is.”

“As you should.” She stops, looking at you with those strange cut-jewel eyes, and seems to consider something. 

“Rose,” she says suddenly, “forgive me if this is unwelcome,” and then she’s sweeping forward in her new clothes made of the fabric you gave her.

Your eyes look up at her inhuman face as she uses her wings to shield out the dim light coming through elegantly incorporated skylights, latticed by the roots of trees and vines she’s trained to hide them, and she’s never looked more alien as she does now, feathered antennae hanging between you like mistletoe and her top left hand on you hip and bottom right just under your waist and-

_ oh _

-she’s kissing you, lips strange and inhuman, not like you’ve ever kissed one, but cool and smooth, with only the slightest give like old, thick leather, and that strange moth tongue sweeping over your lips, the slightest hollow in it like a supple reed, and  _ that’s  _ what startles you out of your introspection and gets you to start kissing her back. You open your mouth, kissing back, and lick over the bottom of her lips, savoring the honeyed taste of her mouth, but all too soon she pulls away.

“That,” you say, a tad breathlessly, “was not unwelcome in the slightest. I- uh. Wow.” 

She blushes. “And I am correct in assuming this is not a ‘friend’ activity between humans?”

“Not usually,” you say.

“I would like for it to not be a friend activity, if there are to be repetitions of this,” she says firmly.

“Oh, good,” you say. “That sounds very reasonable of you, and I do believe this should be done again. With frequency, if you’d like.”

“I would.”

There’s silence for a moment.

“Just to clarify,” she says, suddenly sounding uncertain. “I would like for us to be human ‘girlfriends’.”

“Yes, I got that,” you say.

“Oh,” she says. “Good. Well, I suppose we ought to go see my mother, she is why I brou-”

“Kanaya who is this you’ve brought- KANAYA GET BEHIND ME IT IS THE WITCH!!!” comes a chirring yell, and you flinch right off your feet as you stumble back.

“Lordinheavenwhatisthatitcantalkohmygod,” you say, all in one breath.

“Mother, what witch?” Kanaya is saying, but the enormous fucking bug just hisses at you and dear lord you didn’t know moths could sound so horrifying.

“Are you speaking about my mother? The one who created you?” you say, and it’s only when Kanaya looks at you in confusion that you realize you’ve never told her about your mother.

“Oh dear,” you say. “There is some explaining to do, I realize now.”

  
  


\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Kanaya is staring at the floor, brows furrowed in thought as she sits cross-legged on a fur pelt, the skin meticulously cured  _ somehow,  _ on the floor across from you by her moth-er(ha).

“Mother, why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” she looks over to the moth, seeming confused and just the little bit hurt. “I am not a pupa any more, you could have  _ told  _ me. And Rose,” she looks at you, “you never mentioned any of this! You brought me over to your hive without even telling me, why?”

You look down at the floor, hands in your lap. “I suppose I didn’t want to lose you,” you say weakly.

“Rose Lalonde, that is simultaneously the most selfish and dumbest thing I have ever heard.”

You flinch. 

“I cannot believe you would do such a thing! You could have told me, or explained the risks, or even hinted at it! That would have been better than keeping me in the dark, Rose. and how dare you make such assumptions on my character! To think that I would simply stop being friends with you because of your mother is unkind!”

“Oh,” you say. “So you’re not angry?” you say hopefully.

“I am very angry!” she says. “I am fucking ‘pissed’, as humans say! This is very upsetting, and I am upset! Do not think I am not, Rose!”

“But you don’t hate me?” you half-plead. “You- you still want to be my friend, right?”

“Of course I do, you stupid girl! Why would I not! You are funny and interesting and kind and the second being I have ever met discounting my mother, but it appears you are also the dumbest person I know!” she yells. “You absolute idiot, I love you! So apparently I am as stupid as you! Augh!” She slaps you, and grabs your face into a frantic kiss, two hands tight on your shoulders and one on your face, other tangling in your short fair hair. She pulls away, and slaps you again, still grabbing you at the shoulders.

Gog, there’s probably something wrong with you that you find her extremely hot like this.

“Oh, that’s good,” you say in a daze. “I was a bit worried there.”

Another frustrated scream, and a chitter from her mother.  “Kanaya, I believe she is trustworthy if a bit stupid and sarcastic.”

“I deserve that,” you say.

“Yes, you do, you idiotic beautiful intelligent girl,” Kanaya says affectionately.

You didn’t know that moths could wink, but her mother appears to be doing just that. Big day, everyone. Moths can wink. Big day.

“Ah, mother,” Kanaya turns to look at her, “if you could, ah, leave us in privacy for a moment-”

“I understand, dear,” the moth winks again. “Call if you need me.”

Kanaya blushes, but doesn’t deny the insinuation, and you go over and sit closer to her, thighs touching. “We have much to speak about, Rose,” she says. “Do not think you can get out of that.”

“I don’t,” you say back coyly, “but it can wait, don’t you agree?”

“Perhaps,” she says, cupping your cheek and chin with her right hands and top left hand on your waist.

You take that as approval, and lean in.

Your guess was right.


	11. Chapter 11

turntechGodhead [TG] began pesteringtentacleTherapist [TT]

TG: rose  
TG: rose  
TG: rooooooooose  
TG: rose i need you  
TG: ill let you do your fake ass therapy on me come onnnnnnnn

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: Will you now?  
TT: Do go on. I’ll have my clipboard at the ready any moment now.  
TG: aw yeah knew thatd lure you out of your evil tentacle lair  
TG: anyway i need you to answer something for me  
TG: gotta settle a bet  
TT: Do tell. What is it that would make you a willing victim of my practice?  
TG: does it make you a furry if you wanna date a cryptid  
TT: …

tentacleTherapist [TT] is idle!

TG: rose  
TG: rose  
TG: rose where are you  
TG: rose gog damn it get back here ive got a bet to win

tentacleTherapist [TT]is no longer idle!

TT: How humanoid is said cryptid?  
TG: uhhhhh  
TG: pretty humanoid i guess  
TG: like its got pincer-y hands and fangs for teeth i guess but a human face and mostly humanoid body  
TG: its got like carapace plating instead of skin?  
TG: he looks mostly human in his silhouette though  
TG: oh and there’s these spiky things on his back  
TG: wait shit  
TG: it not he  
TT: Dave.  
TT: There is no bet, is there?  
TG: you got me lalonde there is a real life cryptid in houston texas that has remained completely hidden from everyone but me  
TG: you solved the fucking mystery good job princess  
TT: Glad we cleared that up. What’s his name?  
TG: jegus rose it was a fucking joke cryptids aren’t real and they certainly arent in houston  
TT: Don’t lie to me Dave. You know it won’t work.  
TT: So. What is his name?  
TT: I’ll tell you if you’re a furry or not after you tell me.  
TG: still not real lalonde  
TT: But if they were?  
TG: if they were  
TG: then his name would be karkat  
TG: hypothetically  
TT: Thank you, Dave. It’s a very nice name.  
TT: You’re a fucking furry, by the way.  
TG: damn it  
TG: ok fine  
TG: whatever i can roll with this  
TT: It’s good that you’ve accepted this part of yourself so readily, Dave.  
TT: I’m glad to see some of our sessions have gotten through to you.  
TG: aight i got another question  
TT: Shoot.  
TG: so  
TG: hypothetically  
TG: if there was one in houston  
TG: how would i smuggle him out  
TT: Well, how big is he?  
TT: Hypothetically, of course.  
TT: That would affect mobility and routes of escape.  
TG: Rose.  
TG: You’re not making fun of me, right?  
TG: I’m serious about this.  
TT: Oh my.  
TT: Proper grammar and syntax?  
TT: You are serious, after all.  
TG: Rose, I swear, I’m not fucking with you.  
TG: this isn’t some ironic shit  
TG: i need your help damnit  
TT: I believe you, Dave.  
TT: Would you believe me if I said I   
TT: If I said I had my own cryptid paramour?  
TG: oh for fucks sake  
TG: really?  
TT: I believe it’s my turn to say, “I swear, I’m not fucking with you”, Dave.  
TG: ugh  
TG: of course i believe you rose  
TG: how could i not ive been visiting a teenage crab boy every fucking day because i saw him in a damn alley when i was out getting some aj and didnt know when to fuck off and mind my own business  
TG: and followed him to one of those shitty abandoned buildings and saw where he went into the damn basement through a cracked window and i went in after him and almost had a fucking heart attack when his enormous fucking crabdad tried to fucking kill me  
TG: and he had to save my dumb ass and somehow i got lucky enough to become friends with him and now im stupidly in love with him like an IDIOT and i just want him to be safe  
TG: and that means far away from humans  
TG: far away from ME  
TG: so i dont want to fucking hear it lalonde you solved the fucking mystery of forcing me to accept that im bi as fuck before i was ready with your stupid fucking mind games and now im in love with a guy who needs to never see humans in his entire life or hell be in huge fucking danger and  
TG: oh shit  
TG: please dont tell your mom  
TT: Of course not, Dave.  
TT: I wouldn’t subject a sentient being to testing and other horrors she would undoubtedly cook up.  
TG: oh thank gog  
TG: fucking hell  
TT: And I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable, Dave.  
TT: I just wanted to help.  
TG: yeah well show me how sorry you are by helping me get him out  
TT: Alright.  
TT: I will.  
TT: I have a plan in the works already, anyhow.  
TG: well that isnt ominous at all    
TT: I try. 


	12. Chapter 12

You know as soon as you wake up that something’s different.

You  _ really _ hate being right.

You dress, pulling on a mid-calf purple skirt and a red-rose embroidered top, padding down the stairs in flats, and the hairs on the back of your neck raise. There’s no sound in the house but something isn’t-

Oh, she did  _ not. _

She did.

The wizards are gone, every last photo, painting, statue, and bust has disappeared, leaving your home nigh-unrecognizable. So that’s nice, your mother for once being the first to cede in one of her mind games.

You wish she hadn’t.

Because as soon as you turn into the kitchen, what you find is much worse.

Crates and crates and  _ fucking  _ crates of different wines, rose, red, white, fucking  _ blueberry _ of all things, champagne, vodkas of every type and flavor, rum and gin and whiskey scattered on the stupidly long table you’d sit across from her every night while eating a microwave dinner because she was too drunk to cook properly, back when you were seven and hadn’t gotten fed up with it and began cooking for yourself. Shot glasses, tumblers, martini glasses, empty or with half a sip in the bottom, and you-

You flip the fucking table, which you really shouldn’t be able to do, seeing as it’s solid wood and one hundred and fifty pounds with a crate of moscato on it, but you are so  _ angry, _ angry at her, angry at yourself for not seeing this coming, thinking she would change, would ever be a decent excuse for a human being, would ever-

The table flips, glasses crashing against the floor, and you hear a drunken moan from the other room, but you  _ don’t fucking care. _ You run upstairs and grab a portable wifi router and your laptop, and you dash out the door and into the woods.

Guess you’re moving your plans up.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------

  
  


You’re crying, running through the forest with little regard for the branches and brush scraping against you, clutching the router and computer to your chest tightly, and you stumble into the clearing with blurry vision and you sit heavily on a log and weep, because you can’t- you thought- you-

“Rose!” Kanaya’s summer cicada voice calls, and she scoops you up in her arms, and holds you close to her strange carapaced body. You weep onto her handmade clothes until you have no more tears, and she pets your hair softly and hums to you with her inhuman vocal chords.

“Do you wish to speak about it?” she asks you softly, and you shake your head.

“No, but thank you,” you croak, and she sets you down beside her on the log and holds your hands, rubbing over them with segmented fingers. “I have a plan.”

Kanaya raises an eyebrow, and looks at you quzzically. “What sort of plan?” she asks, and you pull yourself together and take a deep breath, letting it out.

“Kanaya,” you pause, gathering your thoughts, “it is not safe for you here. I am unsure of how you have stayed undetected for so long, but I do not believe it will last, and I would- I would like to help you escape. I can help you get away from here, you can see the rest of the world that is out there, and there is a way for your mother to come too! You could see more than this forest, you could be far from my mother and her labs, and-” you swallow. “I have my own reasons to leave this all behind, too.”

“So what is your plan, Rose?” she asks. “I must admit, I am intrigued at the idea of seeing more of the world, and being far from your _ mother,” _ she half spits the word, “and I shall have to speak to my mother about this, but I am interested in hearing about it.”

You take a deep breath, and let it out in a huff. “I am getting the fuck out of here. And I am going to do it like this.” You open your laptop, tap in the password, and open the spreadsheets and word docs you made at 2 am in a furious planning session, and show it to her. “First, I am going to get a false ID that lists me as a legal adult in my own right. Then, I am going to take my mother’s credit card, and funnel money into my account, and begin taking it out from the back in cash. Using this money, I am going to purchase a truck, and a trailer that can be attached to it. I will pay for it to be parked at a private lot in cash, and begin ordering the necessary supplies to strike out on my own in staggered waves to avoid catching the attention of my mother. I will steadily transport this to the trailer as it arrives, and make my escape under dead of night. And-” you take one of her hands “-Kanaya, it will be a bit cramped, but we will be able to bring your mother with us, if I find the right model of truck, and then we can be  _ free. _ You can see the rest of the world, Kanaya. Kanaya, there is  _ so much _ out there, and-”

She cups your face with a cool palm, and smiles, multifaceted eyes glittering as her wings shift behind her with a faint hum. “Oh,  _ Rose,” _ she says, and hugs you. 

Your heart catches in your throat, and you hug back, sliding your arms under her wings and clutching her tightly. “Is that- is this your way of agreeing to-”

She releases you, still smiling as she takes you hands in hers. “I shall have to confer with my mother,” she says, “but I do find your idea to have merit. If you would have us, I would love for my mother and I to join you. There is much I have not seen, as you say, and I should like to remedy that.” She kisses you, swift but sweet, and you remember your promise.

“Wait- before you agree, Kanaya,” you say quickly, “I have- one of my friends is in a frighteningly similar situation, as it is. He- he has met a cryptid, and is in need of a way to get him to safety, like you and I. And-” you swallow “-I have reason to believe his guardian is one of the worse specimens, and I do not want to leave Dave there with him. If you still wish to come, I would be driving to Houston to get them, before making a getaway. We would each drive a truck, of course- I can procure that much for him so we are not too cramped, and a false ID and everything we would need. It won’t- it won’t be a significant change, if you do not mind a few traveling companions, an-”

She nods, still smiling. “I do not mind, Rose, but I am glad you told me. I will tell my mother, and consult her on what we should do.” She looked away, blushing. “I do hope she says yes.”

You blush, looking away. You… you really do love this girl.

“So, I believe we planned to go to the waterfall today?” Kanaya says. “Shall we?”

You struggle with the urge to facepalm as you remember your plans. “I forgot to bring my swimsuit, actually.”

She smile mischeviously. “Well, according to your movies, ‘skinny dipping’ is a common courtship ritual, isn’t it? I am  _ very _ interested in being multicultural.”

You blink. “Only if you do it too,” you blurt, taken off your guard.

“Of course, Rose,” she smiles. “Turnabout is fair play, of course.”

Well. How are you supposed to say no to  _ that? _


	13. Chapter 13

…ahem. 

You came back to the house in a composed daze, still a bit soggy and  _ yes, _ your maidenly virtue intact,  _ thank you very much. _ You’re quite content with how it went, as is, anyway.

Her strong arms held you close in the rushing water, one hand on your cheek, one at the nape of your neck, the others encircling your waist, her wings rubbing together to a soft melody heard faintly above the sounds of the waterfall, a small smile on her lips as the two of your spoke idley, soft words as you held each other in the cold rushing water… 

Gog, you’re gay.

_ Anyway _ (x2), you’ve been busy, these past few days, ordering new electronics that your mother won’t have gotten to and using them to set up transactions, a new truck-and-trailer sitting in a lot, ready and waiting, easily-pawnable items ordered, plenty of clothes for Kanaya (she’ll have to make alterations, but oh well), bedding and non-perishables and toiletries and everything else you could think of that you could possibly need. You’ve been texting Dave for hours on end, hashing out each miniscule detail. You’ve sent him a credit card yesterday- it should be there by now, with overnight shipping, and once he says he has it you’ll start putting money in it for the things he will need as well. If everything goes to plan, it should be fine.

And if it doesn’t, you’ve got enough contingency plans to make the FBI envious.

You also haven’t gotten more than two hours of sleep since… since the other foot dropped.

Which was four days ago. 

You’re eating the coffee grounds straight out of the bag at this point, and an ill-timed break on your blog revealed a recipe for disaster, leading you to make coffee with Monster Energy Java instead of water.

It tasted like the culmination of humanity’s hubris, and also disgusting. You passed out after drinking about half of the pot, and woke up with all of your shoes piled around you in the shower.

Since then you've been drinking it in shots every other hour, out of the rose gold-inlaid obsidian shot glasses your mother bought when you were five and a half. You didn't feel it when you injected your estrogen shot, and you don't feel the bruise around it either. 

Yes. Ok. You are. You are locking your bedroom door. Closing your windows. Pushing a chest in front of the door. And. Now you are in your bed. You close your eyes.

  
  


\----

  
  


You wake up, face streaked with tears, heart racing, hair plastered to your face. You don't know what you dreamed about. Six hours have passed, according to the clock. You go back to sleep.

  
  


\----

  
  


You sleep for another eight hours, and lay in bed for half an hour after you wake up, filled with lethargy.

You get sick of that, and roll yourself out of bed onto the floor. A book hits you in the ribs, and you grit your teeth. You smack your hand on the track pad of your computer. It's Tuesday, 1:53 PM. 

_ Shit. _

You snatch up a sundress, wrestle it on as you slide your feet into cheap flip flops your mother got you when you asked her to bring something back from Paris three years ago. They were two sizes too big and still had the tag on them, proudly proclaiming that they were from the New York airport.

Well, they fit now, and you haul the chest away from your door, unlock it, fling it open, slam it closed, lock it quickly. Run down the stairs, out the sliding door, recently fixed, over the railing, through the river, into the forest. Your heartbeat is thundering in your ears, your afro is a mess, and your makeup must be days old.

And you  _ missed your meeting with Kanaya. _

Everything in your life is the absolute worst ever.

You scramble into the clearing, your usual meeting place, and startle the herd of deer minding their business there. They notice it’s you, though, and go back to grazing. 

You put your head in your hands and sit heavily. Of  _ course _ she wouldn’t be waiting; you’re two days late, and even if you weren’t, you’re still  _ three hours _ late.

You are  _ so fucking stupid. _

You sit there feeling sorry for yourself for a few minutes, then start heading to the berry patch. You might as well eat some; it’s not like you’ve eaten anything in… at least 15 hours, and berries are supposed to be healthy, right? 

Your orange sundress snares on brambles occasionally, no matter how good you are at picking your way around them by now, but you keep on, rubbing the crust of eyesleep off your face as you go. 

Gross.

When you get to the berry patch, you breathe in the scent of ripe fruit, and then immediately wade into raspberry thorns.  _ Fuck.  _ You fucking hate nature.

Still, as you pop sweet, juicy berries into your mouth, it does have some high points. You get your fill of raspberries, and go over to the blueberry bushes, gathering them up in your... skirt-part of the dress. It’s not as if there’s anyone around to see you with your dress up.

_ “Rose,” _ a breathless voice says from behind you, and you squeak in surprise, turning around abruptly.

“Kanaya,” you say, relieved and happy to see her-

“Don’t you _ ever do that to me again!!!” _ she yells, and launches herself at you. 

The both of you topple over, and she supports herself on two arms as she shakes you by the shoulders with the others.

“You! Stupid! Idiot! Human! Girl!” she yells, “I was worried! I worried about you, Rose, you did not come at the agreed upon time, nor the next two days! And now! I! Find! You! In! My! Berry! Patch! Like! This! Is! Ok!” 

You crush her into a hug, putting all your remorse and happiness into it, and hope she understands. 

“I’m sorry,” you say into her chest, “I’m sorry, I was so caught up in everything, I lost track of time, I didn’t even know what day it was, I fucked up, I’m sorry, Kanaya, I’m so sorry-”

“Rose, you  _ idiot,” _ she says, and you can’t help but agree with her, “I-” her breath hitches “-I was  _ so worried!  _ Augh! Don’t  _ do _ this!” 

“I won’t,” you say, “if only for the taste.” 

She has nothing to say to that.


End file.
